Massages and Other Things Unrelated

My travels here seem to mirror that of the new Karate Kid movie, with me taking over Will Smith's son's role. American, having lived all of his life in comfort and familiarity, is uprooted and forced to live in a foreign country. New home, new neighborhood, new school, new food, new people, new language. There is some culture shock, and, having been alienated from people his age because he doesn't fit in the right group and the bully Asian kid picks on him, he decides to learn kung fu (in my case, muay thai boxing), become an expert in less than a month to fight in a no-holds barred sparring tournament, win with a crane kick to the bully Asian kid's face, and finally get the girl. Actually, the first half of that is more in-sync with what's going on here than the second part.

But here are some real notes about what's been going on:

Time here seems to stop. It's a fragment of raw and exceptional beauty tucked away into the world's pocket, a part of paradise. There really can't be any other way to put it. Located three hours away from Phuket, Kuraburi is a small town stripped of everything remotely close to Western. A central road with six lanes going each way cuts through the heart of the town, decorated by shops and restaurants on each side. From the local cell phone store to the pork fried rice place to the 7-11, the town is a tightly woven community, each person knowing his or her part in helping the group as a whole. Another important facet are the morning and evening markets. During the beginning and ending of the day, tents and vendors line the streets entertaining passer-byers with their mouth-watering food, exotic beverages, and clothing. One of the local Thai women batters up a mix and puts it in a waffle maker, churning out delicious coconut flavored waffles, while kids runs down the streets and guys on their motorbikes whiz through to check out the scene.

Motorbikes, though, cannot be emphasized enough. Those seem to be the most popular forms of transportation around, as people young and old are constantly zipping along the streets. Partly due to their ability to cut through narrow and unpaved roads and their relatively cheap cost, motorbikes are to Thailand what fast food is to the US.

For the next week I'll be teaching Burmese children English, so I went to the school several days ago to check out the area. One word to describe the Burmese living community: dilapidated. Located 20 minutes from my base location, most of the Burmese people are not legal residents of Thailand. They are a nation of people who are not formally recognized. Forced to take menial low-paying jobs, the people live in extreme poverty. They literally live in slums. Their shanty housing situation is characterized by broken down rooms and windows, poor plumbing, holes in the roofs, cardboard coverings tossed everywhere, and a river containing decrepit long boats and dark waters brimming with trash. The elementary school itself is unsurprisingly in poor conditions. No windows, a makeshift fence, dirt floors, broken school desks that look like those from Dead Poet's Society except if Robin Williams had his kids - instead of simply stand - jump up and down and then smash them with a baseball bat with the same intensity as Ron Livingston and the gang from Office Space. While it would seem that this would lead to difficult learning situations, the children are all wide-eyed and enthusiastic. They run around with energy and enthusiasm, playing with each other and collectively having a curiosity that would be hard to match elsewhere. Before this trip, my parents had me bring toothbrushes to give to the children and it is apparent that these boys and girls definitely need the oral hygiene care. Their smiles give way to a deeper understanding of how unfortunate it is to live in this community. The remnants of their baby teeth are nothing but brown stubbles, a reflection of the many sweets they eat - too poor to purchase healthier alternatives.

On Saturday, a few of us went to the Ranong province where I had my first oil massage. For the price of about $45, I had an hour session at the jacuzzi and sauna followed by what came out to be a two hour date with my masseuse. First off, before you go and actually get your massage, they have you put on a pair of draw-string pants and a button-up shirt. However, the pants are the most impossible things to put on. Considering that pieces of luggage now come with pamphlets of instructions, draw-string massage pants should also. The pants themselves seemed to be custom-made for Eddie Murphy back when he was making The Nutty Professor. Large enough to fit two-and-a-half me's, I had to wrap the draw string several times around my waist before it was tight enough for them to stay on. Apparently my wardrobe wasn't correct, because the moment I stepped out the three Thai employees broke out in complete laughter.
Instruction manuals, I'm telling you.
You then get a chance to pick out the oils you want the masseuse to lather you up in. I picked jasmine, which is the machoist oil a guy can put on (or so I tell myself). Then you go behind the curtain and lay down on the table...I was giddy.
Brief side note, this past year was fueled by a lot of stressful episodes. Imagine it as a mix between being the PR person for Lindsey Lohan and Heidi Montag's dignity. So I was ready for some loosening of the muscles.
However, I did not really know what to expect from this massage.
Here are a few things you need to know.
First off, you're naked, which took me for a loop. So the masseuse, knowing very limited English, had to motion with her hands to take off my the draw-string instruction manual needed pants and underwear.
Second, after you're naked, you don't wrap the towel around you and lay on the table. Instead, you lay the towel over your body. This took me by surprise as the first thing the Thai woman tried to do when she came in was immediately unravel me like a pig in a blanket. This led to confused looks by and her speaking in choppy English about what I thought was something along the lines of bad sushi.
Third, there's a "no-fly zone" in terms of where the masseuse will oil you up and massage, but it's a very small one. It's about the size of the basketball hoop when Rajon Rondo is at the free-throw line. So the masseuse will definitely work his or her way around the body. At the beginning, I felt like Marlon Brando in Apocalypse Now..."The horror, the horror..." In short, there was almost point where I would've considered getting a verification form for my doctor that I got a prostate exam. But hey, I smell like jasmine, the manliest oil out there.
Finally, around halfway through the massage, the masseuse will lift up the towel covering you and ask you to turn over. This isn't very useful if she tells you in Thai. Instead, I had the woman pull the towel off, say something, and then stare at me. Not helpful at all.